


the stitches or the devouring mouth

by writtendlessly



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Gen, M/M, only mildly poetic this time, pretty mild james/mike but it's still there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtendlessly/pseuds/writtendlessly
Summary: There are five boys in London trying desperately to both outrun their demons and become them. This is not their story. This is the story of Gold, Steel, Brass, Lead and Silver.(sort of an origin story of how each boy got their pseudonym)





	the stitches or the devouring mouth

 i.

They’re in a gun shop on a warm Tuesday night when he sees it, glinting at him from across the room and impossible to ignore. The four of them are doing things legally for once (well, about as legal as it gets with the fake identities they’re purchasing under) and actually taking their time browsing the various weaponry in glass cases and on the walls. 

Mike isn’t looking for anything special, just a back-up pistol or two and some bullets, but he’s inexplicably drawn to the garish gold plating of the guns and knives on display in the back corner. Ben catches his line of sight and rolls his eyes, but Mike isn’t deterred. He stares at them for a few minutes before the shopkeeper comes by.

“See one you like?” He asks, the lilt of his voice making it clear he’s not from London. 

“Maybe,” Mike mumbles noncommittally, but he’s not sure why he’s playing coy. He’s been eyeing the shiniest, most obnoxiously gold pistol in the entire store—possibly the entire world. _There’s no subtly with a weapon like that_ , he thinks, but maybe that’s kind of the point. Mike has never been a stab-them-in-the-back kind of person, following his own warped code of ethics that means always letting your enemy see you coming. 

It’s not the safest way, for sure, but it’s a habit now and he always has Ben in his ear to warn about others who don’t follow the same ideology. 

Mike was sold the second he saw the gun, but he acts conflicted to get a better deal, and he walks out of the store with a smile on his face, already thinking about the cheap sunglasses he has in a random drawer that are the perfect matching shade of gold.

  
  


It doesn’t become an actual thing until months later, after him and the other boys keep buying gold accessories and clothes as a stupid joke, and then a witness on the local news calls him “a man covered in gold”. It escalates rapidly from there, and “covered in gold” becomes “gold-plated” becomes “Golden Boy” before he even realizes what’s happening. 

Jamie thinks it’s hilarious, especially the “boy” part, and Barry sulks over the fact that Mike is _famous_ and the rest of them aren’t. Ben is rightfully worried about being so easily tracked, about Mike being recognized and followed because of his new bad habit.

Mike isn’t so sure about being called a boy (is that an insult or a compliment?) but there’s something appealing about “Gold” as a name. Gold is valuable, precious, revered across all cultures and centuries. People go to war for gold, lose their families and lives in the desperate desire for more of it. Gold is a reward for a job well done, a bounty after a long journey, the color of medals and trophies. 

And yet there’s something delicate about gold. Gold is the color of wedding rings and sunrises and halos. The soft wisps of his hair as a baby, the fragile flakes artfully placed on some expensive dessert, the wires and connectors in the cell phones and computers they use every day. 

Gold is versatile, expensive, dangerous. Everything Mike hopes to be. 

  
  


ii.

It isn’t too long after Mike starts embracing the name “Gold” that the others start joking about it, throwing out random ideas for each other. Barry spends a solid week determined that his codename will be Citrus, for some asinine reason that Ben tuned out, but abandons that and moves on to a new idea the way he always does. 

Ben is sharpening his chef’s knives and generally cleaning up the kitchen when Jamie walks in, eyeing the tools laid out over their island. 

“If Mike’s Gold, then you’re definitely Stainless Steel,” he says, picking up a pair of tongs and giving them a few clicks. Ben finishes the knife he was working on and grabs the next one before he responds. 

“I don’t need a name, I’m not on the front lines.”

“Still,” Jamie says, leaning one hip against the countertop and watching as Ben works. Ben isn’t looking up but he can perfectly imagine the look on his face, somewhere between fascinated and confused. “It might be a good idea.”

“Giving me an alias?” Ben keeps his tone neutral, but there’s a part of him that is already agreeing. He’s had similar thoughts the past few weeks.

“I mean _all_ of us,” Jamie clarifies. “Mike is already Gold, and Barry is desperate for his own codename.”

Ben is silent in contemplation for a moment, just the scraping of the knife against the sharpening tool filling the air. 

“I was never the creative type,” Ben offers, quieter than before. He feels insecure, for some reason, and there’s fear, too. Names makes them official, makes this some sort of career plan and not just a series of bad decisions. Mike is usually the one afraid of commitment, but Ben finds himself at a crossroads.

Jamie, in all his lovely empathy, just smiles and pats his shoulder. “Just think about it, no pressure.” 

The unsaid meaning is, _you can always walk away whenever you want._ Ben appreciates the sentiment, but can’t bring himself to believe that it’s true. Not anymore. 

  
  


Ben doesn’t think about it after that conversation. Which is to say that it’s _all_ he thinks about, but actual name ideas are the furthest thing from his mind. Jamie had said Steel and that’s good enough for him. It’s simple and easy and Ben has always loved a good overarching theme, even if different metals have nothing to do with the group name of Sorted. 

Most of the things Ben owns are steel—his kitchen tools, his watch, his weapons—and the material surrounds him in his daily life. Steel is used in appliances, in buildings, in vehicles and wires. Nearly everything that makes up the city of London is supported with a steel skeleton and it’s fitting, almost _too_ fitting, because Ben’s intel and data is the backbone of the entire operation they have going. 

Steel is strong, can resist damage and corrosion and support incredible weights without breaking. Ben isn’t so conceited to think he’s the same—in fact, he might be the most vulnerable of them all—but it’s something to strive towards. 

When polished and sharpened, steel is dangerous and powerful. It reflects back whatever it sees, like a mirror, and this deflection keeps people at a distance, wary and uncertain. Ben has always tried to mold himself to the situation, to be whatever his audience wants to see and nothing more. It’s a skill he perfected at a young age, a skill he used in boy’s locker rooms and cabin bunk beds before he ever held a gun. 

The pristine surface doesn’t stay long, however, picking up every smudge and fingerprint from whatever it comes into contact with, scratched easily from clumsy hands and speeding cars. Steel is strong, but not indestructible, no matter how many decades in laboratories and minutes in bathroom stalls are spent trying to change that fact.

  
  


iii. 

Jamie is the first one who suggests that they all should have codenames, even if he probably wasn’t the first one to think of it. There’s some level of security, and fun, in using an alias instead of random John Doe fake names. He’s somewhat reluctant to fully establish personas for them, because being known means being tracked and monitored. But they can’t gain power and control without fear, and what’s fear without a name?  

He’s had the same pair of brass knuckles since the day he bought them online as an edgy teen. They’ve served him well throughout the years, and it isn’t until he sees the similarly-colored handgun on the website that he makes the connection. Mike is Gold, Ben is well on his way to accepting Steel, and Jamie could slot in easily as Brass. 

He throws out the idea one afternoon in their shared apartment, when they’re all sitting around in the living room. The TV is on low, but they’re mostly entertaining themselves with cell phones or books or weapons cleaning. This apartment was a bit of an upgrade from the place where it all began—slightly bigger, nicer kitchen, and, most importantly, rented under a fake name. It’s nothing to be proud of, but Jamie is proud nonetheless.

“What do you think of Brass?” Jamie asks, and Barry startles a bit at the sudden noise in the otherwise quiet room.

“You mean, like, as a concept?” Mike responds. He’s tapping on his phone with one hand while his other leisurely flips a butterfly knife around. 

“Kind of a duller version of gold, innit?” Barry adds, already abandoning his half-hearted gun cleaning to look at Jamie. Jamie appreciates that at least one of them is giving him their attention.

“No, as a name,” Jamie clarifies. “We have Gold and Steel already. May as well continue with the theme.”

Barry frowns, “But I was gonna be Shutter.”

“That’s a stupid name and you know it,” Ben is now looking up from his book too, laughing at the disappointed face Barry makes. “But admittedly, it’s better than Citrus.”

“Cit-rus got real!” Barry exclaims, as if that’s all the explanation he needs to give.

“Guys,” Jamie feels exasperated already and the conversation has barely begun. “ _Brass._  What do you think?”

“It’s suitable, I guess,” Ben says. “Like brass knuckles or brass instruments.” 

Jamie hadn’t even thought of instruments, but that makes him like the idea even more. He smiles.

“Good, because I already bought a brass-colored pistol last week.”

Mike lets out a small laugh, either at Jamie or something on his phone, but he’s nodding anyway. “Works for me.”

There’s some whining from Barry about his creativity and being put in a box, but Jamie easily tunes him out. Ben mentioning the instruments has his brain going a mile a minute, coming up with more justifications for how the name fits him as if he wasn’t already decided on it.

Brass is an alloy (he knows because he googled it), and Jamie has always worked better in a team than on his own. It’s the whole reason this thing got started, back when it was just him and Barry and a single gun between the two of them. Brass is malleable but durable, easily confused with things like bronze or gold at a quick glance. 

Jamie has always had a soft, kind appearance, even as a child. He’s the dad friend through and through, and is easily underestimated by people who don’t know the true extent of his knowledge and skills. He’s flexible, not in the deceptive way that Ben is or the bewitching way of Mike, but adaptive and responsive. He reads the situation and adjusts, and much like the way that brass is spark-resistant and low-friction, he can defuse and de-escalate any situation he comes across. 

Brass also has unique properties that create rich tones perfect for instruments like horns and cymbals and harmonicas, and Jamie has always loved a good sax solo.

  
  


iv. 

Honestly, Barry just wanted to fit in. It’s an unfortunate trait that he's carried all his life and has been the source of a lot of stupid mistakes and bad decisions. He’s the only one left without a codename, nearly a year after Mike first spotted the golden gun at the random shop they picked for no real reason. Barry wonders if they had gone to a different store, one without gold weapons, if Mike would be Ember or Plasma or Big Bad Wolf. Maybe Barry could’ve convinced them all to be the four horsemen of the apocalypse—but then he would’ve probably been stuck with Famine while the rest got all the cool names.

Regardless of his overall feelings about the metal theme, Barry is still without a name and feeling very upset about this, so he spends an hour searching online before he decides to present his ideas to the others. 

The last time he was in the main room, everyone was there, but as he comes out of the room he shares with Jamie (the apartment was 3 bedrooms, and they pulled the short straws) he only finds Ben. Mike tends to disappear for hours or days at a time, but normally Jamie is always around. 

Barry plops himself down on the couch next to Ben and before he can even ask, Ben is saying, “Jamie went to the store.”

“Oh, okay,” Barry replies. Then, after thinking for a moment, adds, “What kind of store?”

“Just groceries.” 

“Ah.”

There’s a few minutes of silence again, Ben scribbling something on the notebook he has propped on his thigh, before Barry starts talking again. 

“What do you think of Titanium?” Barry asks, starting from the top of his mental list. There’s no real reasoning behind his choices, he just went with whatever he thought sounded cool enough to properly represent him. He’s leaning more towards one or two, but he wants to bounce his ideas off the others before deciding. 

“Bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?” Ben gives him that half-smile he does when he’s trying not to laugh fondly at one of them. Barry can’t disagree with him.

“Yeah, I thought so, too. What about Zinc?”

Ben contemplates it for a moment, before shrugging. “It’s not bad.”

 _That’s a no then_ , Barry thinks. He offers a few more names but nothing really clicks until he’s nearing the end of his list. It’s the name he was already the most attached to, and somehow Barry isn’t surprised that Ben is on the same wavelength as him.

“Lead,” he offers and Ben makes the same contemplative face he’s made for every single suggestion so far. His eyes flick up and unfocus, as if he’s imagining the name on news tickers or brick walls.

“Lead,” Ben repeats, testing the name out himself. “Soft, corrosion-resistant, toxic.”

Barry isn’t sure if Ben had been googling about metals too or if he just knew that already. It’s impossible to tell with Ben. But Barry is nodding along, slightly smiling too as Ben lists a few more random facts about lead. 

They talk about it for a bit longer, the name and the idea of them all finally having pseudonyms, and eventually Jamie and Mike come back home, surprisingly around the same time.

“Guys!” Barry exclaims, unable to wait another second before telling them. “I’ve got a name now, too!”

Jamie bites back a smartass remark about them all having names from the day they were born, and, as expected, Barry barrels on before he can even respond. 

“Ben is Steel and Jamie is Brass and Mike is Gold and now I’m,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “Lead!” 

There’s a beat and Barry keeps going, “Get it? I’m Lead because—”

“Anytime you’re in a room people are desperate to get rid of you?” Mike asks, slapping down an unmarked paper bag onto the kitchen island before joining them in the living room area. He kicks up his dirty shoes on top of the coffee table and Ben glares at him for it.

“Because you’re banned from being near children?” Jamie hops on the Barry-bullying-train as easily as he always does, but at least he takes his shoes off before walking on the carpet. 

“Because I’m _deadly_ ,” Barry finally manages to finish his sentence and his original enthusiasm is greatly dampened. 

The entire appeal of picking something like lead was the overall danger of it. Lead was used for centuries because it was easy to find and use, but the whole time it was poisoning everyone it touched. Barry is no stranger to being walked on, pushed around, thought of as lesser because he’s skinnier and shorter than most and interested in things like photography and beautiful desserts and lovers of all genders who could kick his ass. 

But the same people who judge him unfairly are always caught off guard by the power and control he can wield. He doesn’t have the physical strength of Jamie or the intelligence of Ben, but he’s wily and underhanded and not afraid to cheat his way to the top. It’s how he won all those poker games he joined in the early days of Sorted, and it’s how he slips out of handcuffs and laser sights at just the right moment.

Lead is dangerous but it’s also used to protect—from water or radiation or corrosion—and above all, Barry wants to keep them safe. He’d never say it out loud, because even in their shitty apartment it’s not safe to confess a weakness, but it’s true. The duality of lead, the safety and the danger, reminds him—painfully so—of the duality of his own mind. The way something switches in him between cocking the gun and pulling the trigger, something he can’t define, the way he isn’t sure at any moment if he’s the sword or the shield. 

  
  


v.

James was Skean, first, before he was Silver. He was Skean before he met Mike on that rooftop or ever stepped foot in London. Some part of him was Skean before he even read the word in one of the history books he was studying as a way to procrastinate on his homework when he was fifteen. 

The word had stuck with him for awhile, unshakable in the same way he couldn’t forget the feeling of a knife in his hand, the weight of it, the way it felt like power and beauty and money. He couldn’t use his real name, obviously, when he started taking mercenary gigs, so he just said the first thing that came to his mind and the rest of it (the persona, the sniper rifles, the throwing knives) followed after.

James doesn’t remember when Mike had suggested Silver to him, but something about Mike always made him forget exactly how he got there—on rooftops and in back alleys and in this ragtag team of criminals that you could barely call a gang. James was still resisting them at this point, reluctant to pledge his loyalty to anyone and absolutely defiant at the suggestion that he move in to the empty bedroom in their penthouse. 

Nonetheless, he’s unable to resist when Mike calls and thus they’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling and passing a cigarette between the two of them silently, when Mike first says it. 

“Silver would be a good fit for you,” he says, tongue a bit more loose from the alcohol and James’ general proximity. Their legs are pressed together. 

“Why, because I’m always second place?” 

Mike shoves at his shoulder with his own, another part of them pressed together, and laughs, “No, because silver and gold go together, don’t they?” 

There’s about a thousand different ways James can interpret that statement, so he does what he does best and chooses to ignore it. He knows Mike can’t handle the silence, not when he’s keyed up like this, so James lets him continue.

“There’s Electrum, or “green gold”, and the other non-yellow golds too. Like rose and white,” Mike trails off and James thinks Mike must be trying to remember the other facts that he clearly looked up before he got here. James doesn’t mention the fact that all of those alloys have silver in them but the name is still _gold_. 

“It’s conductive and reflective,” Mike continues. “It’s malleable, used in all different industries.”

James can guess that Mike is trying to make a statement about James, even as he talks about silver. James can reflect, sure, in the way that he doesn’t let anything through and gives just as good as he gets. He's not sure of the metaphor to be made about electric or thermal conductivity but it’s there, on the tip of his tongue. Mike always told him his body heat was too much, that his touch felt like sparks, that the two of them together were two sides of the same coin. 

“Silver is just as valued as gold, just as precious,” Mike adds, voice softer now and his expression hidden behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. Somehow James can see through it anyway, can read the anxiety and uncertainty in the line of Mike’s fingers as he hands the cigarette back to him.

James doesn’t respond, still, and doesn’t say anything until Mike moves on and starts talking about the hooker on the street corner below them. They never talk about it again, actually. But the next time Mike calls him to meet, James’ motorcycle is all shiny, reflective metal (chrome, actually, but close enough) and Mike’s surprised laugh is worth the fear that spikes through him the first time he hears his alias on TV, undeniably tied to Brass, Lead, Steel, and Gold and both weaker and stronger because of it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to ask for the Sorted discord! Please let me know of any glaring errors or if you have any questions/thoughts/ideas about this gang au! Thank you!!!!
> 
> Title from Richard Siken's poem "You Are Jeff" (lots of his poems inspire me for gangau!) specifically this part:   
> It's time to choose sides now.  
> The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don't get  
> an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how  
> you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space  
> between them.


End file.
